


quid pro quo

by un-ah (NeverConformEver)



Category: The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Alcohol, Drunk confessions, Flirting, Fluff, M/M, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-12 12:49:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28510701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeverConformEver/pseuds/un-ah
Summary: “Look, let’s just forget about this and—”“No.”Thomas backs Minho up against the couch. Minho gulps, clutching the water to his chest. Thomas gently pries it from his fingers and places it on the table. Feeling his heart jittering inside his ribcage, Thomas looks up at Minho with determination.“Tell me I’m pretty.”-A fic written for Izcana’s request:a Thominho fic where Minho flirts with Thomas while drunk and he says some things that he can't really take back... Maybe then Thomas asks him again when he's sober and then they go on a date?
Relationships: Minho/Thomas (Maze Runner)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 58
Collections: Pieces of Thominho





	quid pro quo

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Izcana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Izcana/gifts).



> i've only given this fic one once over because i was super excited to post it. sorry for any mistakes.

Thomas grunts as Minho stumbles against him. He can smell the alcohol on Minho’s breath.

“Thomaaaaass,” Minho whines.

Jesus, he’s _heavy._

Thomas stops for a moment to pant. “What is it, Minho?”

“Wanna stay...”

Thomas rolls his eyes and continues the trek forward, dragging Minho and his stupid, muscly, alcohol-addled body with him. “What do you mean you want to stay? We already left, dumbass. You wanna stay out here in the middle of the street all night?”

Minho groans and leans heavier against Thomas who stumbles under the weight with a little _oof._

“Wanna stay...with you...”

Thomas laughs a little, giving Minho a small pat on the back with the arm wrapped under his shoulder.

“Yeah, ‘cause I’m such a catch, right?” He looks sideways, grinning at Minho. 

Minho’s head lolls onto his shoulder. “Don’t go...”

Thomas’s mirth fades. He’d been there for a lot of Minho’s heartbreaks in the past, just as Minho had been there for him. Did Minho really worry that Thomas would leave him, too? Thomas would never. They’re ride or die, ‘til the end. If Minho doesn’t realize that...

“Yeah, yeah,” he mutters, trying to play it off casually. “I’m not going anywhere. Let’s get you home, buddy.”

Half a block and two torturous flights of stairs later, Thomas is sticking his hand into Minho’s back pocket to grab his keys and unlock the door to Minho’s apartment. Sighing with relief when the door opens, he drags Minho inside and turns to close and lock the door behind him. 

Minho wraps his arms around Thomas’s waist and nuzzles his shoulder, whining. Thomas struggles half-heartedly, slapping Minho’s arms and twisting before he laughs and tells him to stop it.

“Dun wanna,” Minho mutters petulantly.

“You know I’m never gonna let you live this down,” Thomas says, and turns in Minho’s grip.

His breath catches. Minho’s face is close, and he’s staring blearily down at Thomas’s lips. Minho’s hands ruck up Thomas’s shirt in the back, big, warm hands pressing into the dip above his ass.

“Thomas...” Minho whispers. “Kiss me...”

Thomas’s heartbeat quickens. He can’t. Minho’s drunk. He doesn’t realize what he’s doing. He’s drunk. He’s drunk, Thomas, don’t...

“So...pretty...” Minho murmurs, leaning closer. 

_Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,_ Thomas thinks, frozen.

And then Minho throws up all over Thomas’s shirt.

* * *

When Minho wakes, his head is pounding something awful. He lies in bed groaning in pain for about five minutes before finally struggling to push off his blankets and sit up. He’s wearing a soft shirt and boxers—his usual sleep attire. Feeling sick, he stumbles out of bed, intent on grabbing some aspirin and water from the kitchen.

When he opens the door to his bedroom, he nearly has a heart attack when he spots a figure on his couch. Squinting against the morning light trickling through the curtains, he sighs in relief when he realizes it’s just Thomas. He draws closer, until he can hear Thomas’s soft breath. Thomas is lying on his back, one leg propped up on the edge of the couch and the other splayed out to the side, touching the floor. He’s wearing one of Minho’s shirts, and it’s a bit big on him. He’s relaxed and still in a way that awake Thomas, an anxious and hyper-active storm of energy, is never. He looks...peaceful. 

Minho swipes the pillow out from underneath Thomas’s head and whacks him with it.

Thomas yelps, falling off the couch.

“The fuck was that for?” he whines, sitting up and rubbing his ass with one hand and his eyes with the other. His hair is sticking up everywhere, and there are crease marks on his cheek. Minho quickly turns and heads towards the kitchen to grab the aspirin and water that he so desperately needs before he does something stupid.

“Just checking to see if you were still alive,” he says. Thomas snorts.

“So...How you feeling this fine morning?” Thomas calls out.

Minho swallows the pills, chasing them down with a gulp of water before wandering back out.

“Like shit. So keep your voice down, will ya?”

He wonders why Thomas decided to stay the night. Not that he minds. He’s just...not used to waking up to see Thomas around.

There’s a moment of silence as they stare at each other. What’s going on? Usually Thomas would have some quick remark ready to fire back at him by now.

“Everything okay?” Minho asks. 

“Wha? Oh. Yeah. Yeah, everything’s fine,” Thomas says, and gets to his feet, scratching his head. “So...” he continues. “Wanna...go catch a movie later?”

Minho shrugs. He doesn’t really feel like going anywhere right now, but with some more water and some food in him, he could probably manage. “Sure, we can hang out.”

“No, I mean...” Thomas looks away nervously. “I mean. Do you...remember anything from last night?”

Minho does not.

Fuck. What did he do? Minho runs a hand through his hair, mouth suddenly dry.

“...What did I say?”

Thomas continues studying the hole in his sock. “Oh. Uh. Nothing, really. Was just wondering, ‘cause you had a lot to drink.”

Minho knows Thomas well enough to know that he’s lying. And he knows himself well enough to guess at what he might’ve said. Shit. Why’d he have to get so drunk? Stupid.

“Fuck. Look, Thomas, I’m sorry. Can we just forget about it? I’m so sorry. It doesn’t—I was drunk, okay?”

“Y-yeah. Yeah, of course. It’s... It’s fine. Just...”

Minho shuffles his feet, praying this won’t change anything. He doesn’t know what he would do if he lost Thomas, too...

“Just what?” he asks.

Thomas looks up to meet Minho’s eyes, expression serious. “You know I’m never leaving you, right? No matter what. We’re forever, dude. You know that... right?”

Minho looks away first this time. “Jesus, man. You can’t just. Say things like that.”

“But it’s true.”

“Yeah, but. I mean. Of course it’s true. I’d do the same for you.”

“I know,” Thomas says quietly.

The tension in the air is palpable, but so is the relief.

“So... movie later?” Minho asks.

“Yeah. If you feel up for it.”

“I’ll be there.”

Silence descends over them again, both aware of what they’ve left undiscussed.

“I’ll just...go then...” Thomas says, and begins to make his way to the door.

“Yeah...okay,” Minho replies. “Thanks for getting me home.”

“No problem.”

Minho tries not to check out Thomas’s ass as he bends over to put on his shoes. Thomas unlocks the door and opens it, then pauses. Then he lets the door swing back shut, turns, and blurts out, “Do you really think I’m pretty?”

Minho chokes on his water. “What?”

Thomas clenches and unclenches his fingers by his side, nervous. But he refuses to back down. “I said. Um. Do you really think I’m pretty?”

Minho looks anywhere but at Thomas. “I—no? I mean—fuck. Yes. Yes, okay? Of course I do. You’re...yeah.”

Thomas watches as Minho’s face reddens and feels a flush rising to his own ears. A grin starts to creep onto his face. “Yeah? Yeah what?”

“Oh shut up and just get out of here already,” Minho retorts.

“No.” Thomas walks closer.

“Look, let’s just forget about this and—”

“No.”

Thomas backs Minho up against the couch. Minho gulps, clutching the water to his chest. Thomas gently pries it from his fingers and places it on the table. Feeling his heart jittering inside his ribcage, Thomas looks up at Minho with determination.

“Tell me I’m pretty.”

Minho’s jaw drops and he leans back, away from Thomas. He begins to stutter, the muscles in his biceps standing out as he clenches his hands on the edge of the couch for balance. Thomas can’t believe what he’s seeing. Minho is never nervous. Never. Except he is, right now, and all because...of Thomas?

Deciding to test his theory, Thomas fakes a pout and does his best impression of puppy eyes. Minho turns impossibly redder. “Unless you think I’m ugly?”

“What? No!”

Feeling his confidence build, Thomas smirks and wraps his arms around Minho’s neck. His hands are shaking. He has no idea what he’s doing, but he doesn’t want to stop.

“Then say it.”

Minho doesn’t know what to do with his hands. He wants to touch—but he’s too afraid to. Thomas is close enough for him to feel his breath puff out against his chin. Slowly, his brain begins to catch up, and the gears click as all the pieces fall into place. Minho narrows his eyes and looks Thomas up and down.

Wait.

“Thomas... You’re blushing.”

Thomas jerks a little, confidence wavering. “Don’t—don’t change the subject.”

Excitement shivers up Minho’s spine.

“Okay,” he says, and grabs Thomas’s hips, flipping them so Thomas is pinned against the couch. He leans and whispers into Thomas’s ear. “You like it when I call you pretty boy?”

Minho slips his thumb under the hem of Thomas’s shirt and strokes the skin just above his belt, rubbing little circles into the warm skin there. “You like it when I put my hands on you?”

Thomas gulps. “N-no.”

Minho grabs Thomas under the thighs and lifts him easily. Thomas squeaks, clinging to him and wrapping his legs around Minho’s waist. “Guess I’ll have to try harder then,” Minho says.

“Wait, Minho—”

Minho carries Thomas past the couch and table to press him up against the door. He takes a moment to recollect himself to ask Thomas, “This okay?”

Thomas is shaking, trembling in his arms. His eyes are wide, and Minho can see his throat bob as he swallows. He nods.

Minho smirks. “Good.”

He reaches over to open the door and drops Thomas onto his feet outside. “See you later, babe. Don’t forget—movie this afternoon. I’ll pick you up.”

Then he closes the door on Thomas’s stunned, flushed face.

There’s a moment when both of them can’t help but just stare at the door between them, trying to process what just happened. Then, hearts pounding, they turn to lean their backs against the door.

Minho feels himself starting to smile uncontrollably. He fist-pumps and thanks his drunk self for whatever the fuck that idiot did. 

Thomas hides his face in his hands, knees weak with the memory of Minho’s hands wrapped under his thighs.

The movies can’t come soon enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you Izcana for the great prompt! This was super fun. My requests are still open for Maze Runner, please check the [pinned post](https://manako-no-yami.tumblr.com/post/639180305112203264/hey-yall-im-currently-taking-tmr-fic-requests-for) on my blog for details. Thanks for reading!


End file.
